


G.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel
Genre: Burns, Cigarettes, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Dynamics, Public Humiliation, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The Grandmaster likes to mark what's his, but he can be creative about it.





	G.

Loki is breathing heavily where he sits in the Grandmaster’s lap. He is pressed right against the Grandmaster’s side, his face buried in the crook of the Grandmaster’s lap, and the Grandmaster chuckles, drawing his fingers gently - so gently,  _so sweetly_  - through Loki’s hair.

“He’s, uh, he’s feeling shy today,” he purrs, the cigarette hanging from between his teeth. Loki is wearing a light, filmy robe of golden cloth, and it is hiked up to his hip, bearing the white flesh of his thigh. “Tell me, Astor, what, uh, what’s with the new look? You trying to impress a guy?” 

Loki glances up at the cigarette, and he shivers when he sees it is nearly at its completion, coming down toward the butt. The Grandmaster is skilled indeed with cigarettes and pipes alike: he can blow a thousand symbols in the smoke, and Loki would be enraptured by it if he could only–

The Grandmaster takes the butt from between his teeth, and Loki stiffens, gripping tightly at the Grandmaster’s hip. The cigarette touches against his thigh, the flesh hissing, and Loki wails against his neck, his mouth open against the Grandmaster’s collarbone. 

He looks down to the marks, dotted neatly against his thigh in raised, neat discs of burnt flesh, not permitted to heal. He sees, now, the graceful curve of the  **G**  - the Grandmaster likes the Midgardian Latin alphabet, likes the way it looks. It’s only half-complete - it will take another six cigarettes for him to finish, and Loki whimpers. 

“When I’m done,” the Grandmaster murmurs against the crown of his head, dragging his fingers back and forth over the length of Loki’s spine, “I’m gonna kiss you from, uh, from head to toe. How does that sound?” Loki bites his lip. It  _does_  sound good, does sound–

“We might go for a walk,” Loki suggests. “On the beach, on the clean one.”

“Aw,  _anything_  for my little Lo-Lo,” the Grandmaster says sweetly, and Loki heaves in a choked little gasp as the Grandmaster squeezes his backside, fingers slipping into the crack between his buttocks and making him shiver. Norns, he is wet, but  _why_? How could he possibly be wet, at the pain? At the cruelty? At the casual, easy domination, where everyone can see him prone and begging in the Grandmaster’s lap? 

 _Anything_  for Loki. Unless the Grandmaster wants it more. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


End file.
